A Change of Pace
by CheshireCity
Summary: Even when ill, Lithuania can bring out the best in people. Implied Russia/Lithuania, human names, fluff, unlikely caretaker/comfort.


Originally written as a fill for LiveJournal's kink meme, as can be seen on Part 13, Page 17.

* * *

**A Change of Pace**

He knew that it was odd when the faint rays of sunlight had crept passed his eyelids and awoken him that morning. He knew it was even odder when he rolled over and read 11h00 on the clock beside his bed. Hadn't he had an appointment that morning? Ah… the G8 was set to commence at nine. How lovely. An inkling of rage bubbled up in his stomach. This wouldn't look good for his already suffering image.

With a low growl, he roused himself from the bed, grabbing his robe from the peg on the wall beside him and stalking out into the hallway. There was no smells of breakfast, the lights were only half lit or half turned on, and the mail sat beside the phone, unorganized and unsorted. Beside it was a clipboard with his paperwork for the day, exactly as he had left it. Ivan glared at it disapprovingly. Where the _ад_ was his 'secretary'?

He grew placid with measured grace as his anger grew, and before he knew it, he was downstairs in the Baltic's quarters. Here, the faint smell of burnt _something_ and the sounded of pattering feet greeted him, and his eyes narrowed. Raivis rounded a corner, then, wiping his hands off on his apron before running smackdab into Ivan and promptly falling over. He began shaking like a leaf (as was his custom) as Ivan stared down eerily, a calm smile claiming his lips.

"Morning, Raivis."

"A-ah Master Russia!" the boy squeaked, drawing attention from the kitchen.

"Rai?"

"Have you seen Lithuania this morning?" Ivan asked, boring holes into the younger nation through his façade.

"Ah, well, I!"

"What's the matter, Rai?" Eduard frowned, folding a rag as he looked down at his trembling brother. The ominous shadow overtook his concentration and he, too, started in alarm. "Ah! Master Russia… good morning."

"Where is Lithuania?" Ivan pressed, slipping into an even sweeter tone.

"Ah, well, you see…" Eduard began, sending a hazardous glance at the door of the brothers' bedroom. Ivan caught it immediately.

"Still asleep?" he laughed, and both Baltics flinched.

"No, not quite! He's –!" Raivis jumped.

"It's not that, but –!" Eduard protested. But Ivan stalked past them as if they were nothing more than a pair of swinging doors. The bedroom door swung open with a loud CRACK! bouncing back off the wall with abrupt force. Upon the bed was a tangle of covers, underneath which was a huddled form and a mop of brunet hair.

"Oh Lithuania~" Ivan crooned, staring purposefully at the still lump. There was no reply. No movement. The Russian giggled madly and tried again. "Lithuania~" This time he voice was more forceful. From the bed came a small moan. "I think it's time for you to get up now, да?" he pressed creepily. "As in right inow./i" Silence, coupled by another low moan.

"…water?"

"It's not that, it's just that he's ill." Eduard finished with a nervous sigh. Raivis bustled around the faucet as Ivan looked at the lump with disbelief. Never, in all of his years of keeping Toris had the man ever _once_ been sick. Not once. The youngest Baltic snuck by him apprehensively, slipping his brother a small glass before taking pity on the immobile nation and helping him up into a half-sitting position.

Toris' skin was the whitest the eldest Slavic had ever seen it – translucent in a sickly pale sort of way, and as fragile looking as porcelain. His green eyes – usually vibrant with the slightest dreams of defiance – had dimmed to a distant glaze, and his hands shook around the glass of water. Raivis sat at his side worriedly, brushing back stray locks of hair that clung to his dampened skin. Ivan stared on in shock.

"You two: leave." He muttered, shooing the other two countries off with his hands, his eyes never leaving the ailing Lithuania. The brothers sent anxious glances back to their brother before trailing out of their bedroom, setting about their other tasks. "Toris." He prompted. After a second, the other's eyes drew to his and after a second of recognition, they brimmed with tears.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Russia." The Baltic whispered with a cracked voice. "Sorry… Did I ruin –?"

"Hush." Ivan intoned decisively. "You are too important to have sick, and you are too ill to talk, so you shall be silent, да?" Toris nodded hesitantly, uncertain if the statement was a trick question. The faintest tinges of pink crept over his cheeks. "Good." The Russian nodded, more to himself than anyone else. He stopped, noticing the blush. "Are you fevered?"

"Ah! Nye- eh… I don't know." The younger nation broke off truthfully. "I've been running a fever off and on."

"Don't talk so much." Ivan chided. It was odd seeing Lithuania so broken down and helpless. Normally, he would have derived great pleasure out of the event, but when it was Toris being beaten into feeble submission by sickness… he fidgeted anxiously. "Have you eaten anything?"

Toris opened his mouth to speak, then thought the better of it, shaking his head instead.

"You should eat something." the Russian mused. "And drink lots more water." He paced about the room in deep thought, worrying the edge of his scarf. Usually, he would just order one of the Baltic brothers to take care of Lithuania, but asides from doubting their competence in the matter, it came to the Communist's attention that they would have to both double their workload to make up for their brother's absence. And that even at that, Ivan was most likely going to have to file his own paperwork for a change. Blue violet eyes slunk back across to the prone form of his subordinate. He looked so pathetic there…

"Latvia!" he called suddenly, mind set. Toris moaned lightly, eyes fluttering back open. Even near-delusional with sickness, he worried over the health of his brothers. There was a loud crash as the smallest Baltic nearly tripped over himself, and he appeared in the doorway with a heated flush.

"Yes, Master Russia?"

"Call Mr. Jones at the top number listed on my clipboard, and inform him zaht _I_ am sick and cannot attend this meeting." He began, earning a startled squeak from the ailing country behind him. "Zhen tell Estonia to make some borscht, да?"

"Ah… yes, Master Russia." Raivis nodded in confusion, before skittering off to do as he was told. Ivan sighed and turned back into the room, uncertain what best to do with himself. Lithuania was staring at him with an inquisitive look, but said nothing, so Ivan sat himself down in a vacant rocking chair and glanced about the room. It was simple – far simpler than he had originally realized, and the slightest bit drafty. The bed was covered in old blankets that big sister Ukraine had once bought him, but that was many, many decades ago, and now they were looking ratty. In a moment of sympathy, Ivan decided that he should order new blankets to be made as soon as he was able.

He sighed, staring out the tiny window in the corner. It looked like it was storming again. Minutes drained by. He looked back at Toris, who had passed back out asleep. He looked more vulnerable than ever. Sad that something so small as a flu could do so much damage, and to Toris of all people. Ivan (guiltily) knew better than anyone what the small nation could withstand. The Lithuanian moaned again, a little louder than before, and tossed fitfully. Ivan watched cautiously, relaxing only when the other had been still a whole minute.

He could hear Estonia banging around in the kitchen now. It suddenly occurred to him that he hadn't yet eaten. His tummy growled, as if in reminder. Ivan had no aversion to using the word 'tummy', no matter how many times Francis or Alfred had laughed at him for his usage of the term. The word reminded him of Vinni Pukh, and that made him quite happy. As Alfred's Pooh said, he 'had a rumbly in his tumbly', and was quite hopeful that Eduard was making enough borscht to at least partially fill it.

He looked over at his subordinate and grew anxious again. He didn't like sick people; as a matter of fact, he had quite an abhorrence to them because they were weak and he always feared of the eventual smell of death that might come. It was dramatic, he knew, but it didn't keep his half-crazed mind from spiraling wildly out of control. He sighed and drummed his fingers against the wood of the armrest. But Toris wasn't like other sick people; he was special because he was stronger than others. That's how he justified it, anyway.

There was a heavy crash from the kitchen, accompanied by a groan of frustration. The Russian sighed in exaggeration, rising from the chair. "Vaht ees eet NOW?" he called, making his way to the door. Raivis beat him to it.

"Ah, it's nothing, Master Russia, sir. Eduard is just getting, erm… _discouraged_ about the borscht. That's all. No worry, see, because Eduard is very eff –"

"Pah! Move." The older man huffed, waving the Baltic nation aside and striding into the kitchen. Estonia nearly dropped his ladle in surprise as Ivan near as filled the tiny doorframe. "Vaht did you do?" he sighed, more exasperated than angry for a change. He peered over the Estonian's shoulder and eyed the half prepared soup. "Eet should be darker zhan zaht." He said plainly.

"I'm sorry, Master Russia. I'll try ag –"

"Nyet." Ivan broke impatiently. "Don't you two have chores to do?" The two Baltics shuffled uncertainly, looking between each other and their master.

"Eh…" they chorused.

"да, you do. Now go." He said pointedly. After a second, they both scurried off, confused over their master's odd shift in behavior.

* * *

"Lithuania." The voice lilted in a singsong manner. The younger country whimpered, clutching onto the blessed dark, unawareness of sleep. He didn't feel so damned hot that way. "_Lithuania~_" the voice called again. Damn him always getting what he wanted.

"'Ello." He winced, instantly attacked by the sunlight streaming through the window.

"I have borscht for you." Ivan called, wafting the bowl in front of his subordinate's nose. It sloshed around, threatening to spill and stain the sheets. It was obvious the Russian was trying his hardest to be friendly, though why, Lithuania was still unsure. He struggled into a sitting position, back propped up with a cornucopia of differently sized and colored pillows. He glanced down at the steaming soup and bit the inside of his lip to keep from groaning.

The broth was blood red – exactly as it should be, but far from appetizing looking to someone who had spent the better part of their morning throwing up.

"Eat eet." Ivan said encouragingly, pushing the bowl at him slightly. "Eet'll be good for you!"

"Eh… thanks." Toris managed, accepting the soup and staring down at its contents. The beets stared back at him dubiously, draining into the half-submerged sour cream and staining it pink. Lovely.

"Eet has vodka een eet." The Russian added proudly.

"I don't think that's supposed to be in there." Toris countered knowledgably, chasing around a chunk of potato with the back of his spoon.

"But vodka ees good for you."

"Not always."

"Eet'll make you better." Ivan said firmly. The Lithuanian silently gave up, dipping the spoon in the bloody looking broth and bringing it to his lips. It couldn't hurt, could it? The soup felt amazing sliding down his throat, and a small smile spread over his lips.

"Ees good?" Ivan said, watching Toris anxiously. The Lithuanian noted that he hadn't tacked on his usual 'да', so for once it meant that the man was asking a question rather than making a statement.

"It is, actually." He replied ruefully, trying not to guzzle the contents. The warm broth felt so soothing to his dry throat… He looked over nervously, realizing Ivan was still watching him attentively. "May I help you?"

"Ees eet really?"

Toris struggled with the blind innocence in those eyes. It was too foreign. "The borscht? Yes, it really is good. Eduard did an excellent job as –"

"Estonia didn't make eet." The Russian interjected, suddenly enrapt in the fringe hanging off one of the blankets. Toris stared at him curiously, wary of the man's unusual behavior. "Eh… I made eet…"

"That explains the vodka, then." The smaller nation mumbled, fighting down the surprised blush that dusted his cheeks. "T-thank you, Mr. Russia." Surely there must be flying Piglets outside in that snowstorm. Ivan had cleared his schedule, sat by him, and handmade him soup in hopes of his speedy recovery? His cheeks darkened the more he thought about it.

"Are you getting fevered again?" Ivan frowned, noting the sudden coloration.

"A-ah! No, no I don't think so." the other squeaked, ducking his heated face over the bowl.

"You sure? I think I should check…"

"No, no, it's fine, really." He whimpered as warm flesh grazed his own; Ivan's wrist resting gently against his forehead. The Russian leaned forwards so their noses nearly brushed, eyes heavy with concern.

"You don't feel so good, Toris. Drink more water, zhen sleep." He advised, not moving from his position. The younger's breath caught at their proximity.

"Y-yes Mr. Russia." He breathed, fearful that his master could hear the frantic beating of his heart. If he only knew… no, it was probably best that the Russian remained ignorant of those feelings. It wasn't right after all that they'd been through. It wasn't healthy, either. His subconscious was screaming at him two completely different things.

_'Kiss him! For the love of GOD, Toris, kiss him.'_

_'Why is he being so nice all of a sudden? That's not normal…'_

_'He's so close… so intimately close.'_

_'It must be some sort of deception; a trap. He's just going to hurt you again.'_

_'But what if he won't?'_

Toris sighed with relief (and loss, he added distantly) as Ivan moved away from his face, pawing around for the glass of water. When had that been refilled? "Here." He smiled almost shyly. "Drink eet all. Zhen you will sleep." And he did, much to the Russian's pleasure.

* * *

When he woke again, the sun was just barely cresting over the horizon, sending bands of pink and orange across the walls of the bedroom. It was quiet, aside from the gentle shushing of snow as it fell in the outside world. Toris sighed, finally having achieved a relative state of comfort and a much clearer feeling head. He smiled vaguely and wondered if his brother's were already up.

Glancing to their side of the bed, he noticed that the sheets were no more disturbed than they had been the previous morning. Odd… Confused, he looked the other direction, and his heart skipped a beat. Sometime during the night, the rocking chair had been drug into the corner between the bed and the wall, and now it was occupied by a slumbering Russian. He looked so gentle, so… concerned.

Toris leaned over the chair, gently brushing the bangs out of the man's face. At his touch, Ivan gave a low sound in his throat, and the worry melted away into a peaceful smile. The Lithuanian looked on, heart pounding. "I don't think I'll ever understand you, Vanya." He whispered, uttering the pet name he only used in his private mind. Flushed, he left a ghost of a kiss on the sleeping man's lips, hardly daring to believe his own gall. "But all the same… thank you."

Feeling light hearted, he settled back against the pillows, drifting off into an easy sleep, fingers still laced with the other man's, exactly how Ivan had left them.


End file.
